


Team-Building For the Yogically Challenged

by greyathena



Category: Ted Lasso (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, The Team - Freeform, Valentine's Day, bromances, yoga bromances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29442459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyathena/pseuds/greyathena
Summary: Ted and Rebecca inadvertently share a Valentine's Day (and Mardi Gras) experience because Roy can't read a flyer.Or, aromanticteam-building experience brings Richmond together.  And then brings Ted and Rebecca . . . together.
Relationships: Ted Lasso/Rebecca Welton
Comments: 29
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in so long, and I've been rewatching Ted Lasso and somehow this came up. So here is a Valentine (and beignet) for the Ted fans.

It was basically Roy’s fault.

Like, a _little_ bit Ted’s fault, but mostly Roy’s.

It was admittedly Ted who noticed the increase in griping and bickering, went around saying things like “I just don’t know how to get these boys on the same side” and “We need something to shake up this mess” and “Anybody got any ideas?”

But it was not his fault that Roy finally said yes, he had an idea.

“There’s this flyer,” he said. “At my yoga studio. Something about forming connections or something. Private workshops.”

All right, so it was Ted who clapped his hands together and said that sounded like a great idea. And that there couldn’t be a better time to schedule such a thing than Sunday morning. Even if Sunday morning _was_ Valentine’s Day.

“Nobody has Valentine’s Day in the morning,” Ted pshawed when anyone brought it up.

“My wife makes heart-shaped waffles,” Higgins said, somewhat plaintively.

“Fine, Higgins is excused.” Ted looked around the office with an eyebrow raised. “Anybody else? No?” he said, without leaving time for anyone to interject. “Good. Roy, set it up.”

It was hard to say whether the thing Ted did next made it better or worse. But he was in Rebecca’s office watching her grimace at proofs for some kind of Valentine-themed event at the next game, and the words just spilled out of his mouth. 

“Hey, you know. The team is doing this yoga workshop downstairs on Sunday morning – kind of a morale boost, team-building kind of thing. Everybody would love it if you joined in.”

Rebecca had that careful expression, the one that was definitely trying to hide something. Trouble was, although he recognized that expression by now, he still couldn’t read what was under it. The mask looked the same regardless of whether it was amusement or despair underneath. “You want me to do yoga with the team?” she asked, slowly.

If it were one of the guys at the pub, that sentence definitely would have ended in the word “wanker”. He soldiered on anyway.

“Sure, you’re part of the team, aren’t you? Everyone’s gonna be there. Except Higgins. He has a – thing. A home thing.”

There was a long pause, during which Ted was at first concerned that Rebecca was having some kind of feelings about Higgins having a family to celebrate Valentine’s Day with, but then realized both of them were picturing Higgins doing yoga.

Rebecca gave her head a little cleansing shake ( _ha_ , he was right) and said, “I – I mean, if you –“

That was a definite opening.

“ _Definitely_ ,” he said. “I told you, you liven things up, didn’t I?”

She sighed heavily. “Yoga, with – twenty-five men?”

“I think the teacher is a lady,” Ted clarified. “And, it’s yoga with _your team_.”

“Keeley comes,” Rebecca said, sitting up straighter and looking him in the eye now that she was ready to make a deal. “She’s part of the team.”

He’d thought of that, and fair play to Keeley, she was, but . . . “You really want to watch Roy and Keeley flirt through a yoga class on Valentine’s?”

Rebecca’s grimace mirrored his.

“Thought not.”

“Ugh.” She looked up at the ceiling and sighed again. “Fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She bit her lip. “I’m going to have to find some way to make it up to Keeley that she’s not invited.”

“Let Roy make it up to her later.”

Rebecca grimaced again, and Ted laughed.

Still, he wasn’t completely sure she was actually going to show on Sunday morning until she arrived in the training room, hair up and wearing dark Lycra pants and a Richmond jacket. Rebecca in exercise clothes was sort of terrifying and vulnerable all at once. Kind of like Rebecca in most things, he supposed.

So that was great. The boys were setting out mats, everybody seemingly going along in good faith. Everyone had taken his advice to wear tight-fitting shorts or pants that came at least to the knee, so there’d be no awkward “accidents”. Even in the training room, nobody wanted to have a ball slip in front of the boss. Beard looked like he was wearing the same clothes he wore every day, while Nate appeared to be encased from neck to ankles and wrists in scuba-suit material. Sure. Great.

Then the instructor – a small, pretty brunette of about thirty – showed up, looked around, and her jaw slowly fell open.

“No one warned her she was teaching a class for AFC Richmond?” Ted muttered to Beard. “It _is_ in our training room.”

“Um,” the instructor said, casting her eyes around the room until they locked on Roy. “Mr Kent – there’s some – um – this is normally, you know –“

“Something wrong?” Roy asked.

“It’s a _couples class_ ,” the instructor whispered.

Ted felt his face smooth into perfect, damage-control blankness as he said, “It’s a what?”

“This workshop,” the instructor said, looking at Ted now. “It’s – for couples? Normally?”

“The flyer said ‘strengthening your connection,’” Roy said. “ . . . oh.”

“It had red hearts all over,” the instructor said.

Roy shrugged. “Everything does. It’s February, innit?”

“Okay, hold on, hold on,” Ted said, keeping his voice down in the futile hope that the team wouldn’t hear they were about to do a couples’ yoga workshop. “Is there anything – I mean - _private_ , that goes on –“

“No!” the instructor said, looking horrified. “It’s not - _no_ , it’s a workshop we do for _groups of couples_.”

“Okay, well.” Ted spread his hands and looked from the instructor to Roy. “Sounds like we’re gonna build some connections.”

“What,” Roy deadpanned.

“Just –“ Ted wagged a hand at the instructor. “Maybe leave out, if there’s anything too ‘From Here to Eternity.’”

“I don’t know what that is,” the instructor said.

“Great,” Ted replied with a strained grin.

“Okay, well, everyone . . .” The instructor pitched her voice louder. “If everyone would choose a mat, we’ll – um – get started with this . . .”

“ _Team-building_ ,” Ted stage-whispered.

“. . . this team-building workshop. Where we will strengthen the bonds between . . . the team, with some – very platonic partner work. Okay everyone, let’s find our mountain pose, tadasana . . .”

This was fine. The instructor’s voice grew more confident as she found the sweet spot between _couples’ yoga_ , and team-building for a bunch of pro footballers. From his mat on the sideline edge, only Rebecca next to him, Ted started to relax. This might be okay.

“This” meaning the whole idea in general. From the way his knees and hips felt when he tried to do child’s pose, _Ted_ might very much not be okay.

Then the instructor looked around with a dubious smile that was all gritted teeth and said, “If everyone would now – choose a partner? We’ll get into the, uh, team-building portion.”

Ted held his breath – which the instructor had specifically been telling them all morning not to do – as the guys froze at first. Then Dani threw his arm energetically over Sam’s shoulders. Nate sidled over to the side of his mat closest to Beard. Roy said, “Isaac,” without turning his head. And it seemed like maybe this was still okay.

Rebecca, turned slightly away from Ted to face the instructor, was very carefully not looking at anyone. Ted stepped over until he was close behind her and said, “I got you, boss.” He thought he saw her shoulders relax, although she barely looked over her shoulder to acknowledge him.

“Okay,” the instructor called as the team finished pairing off. “If you would – um, no strangling please . . .”

Ted specifically didn’t turn around. A muscle in Rebecca’s face twitched.

“If the first partner could stand on his or her mat –“

“Or their,” Nate piped up.

Ted nodded. He wasn’t aware of that actually applying to anyone here, but inclusivity was a team value.

“Their mat,” the instructor echoed. “We’re going to begin with a bit of supported vinyasa, to increase the heat – the heat _in the muscles_ . . .”

If anyone snickered, Ted didn’t hear it.

Anyway he was too busy watching the instructor. Following directions, he was always good at that. Rebecca didn’t need much support in standing like a mountain, though, so his eyes drifted around the room. To Nate encouraging Beard’s shoulders back. Sam standing very tall while Dani supported his elbows in prayer position as if he himself were doing some sort of ritual dance. 

Neat. This was neat.

Then their partner was bending into a forward fold, and they were supposed to smooth their hands down their partner’s back to encourage the stretch. Rebecca had shed her jacket and was wearing a strappy black top that let Ted see the bumps of her spine as he smoothed his hand over them. “This okay?” he whispered when he was bent close to her ear.

“You’d know if it wasn’t,” she whispered back. Slightly ominously. He’d watch his hands. Not that he wouldn’t anyway.

Maybe he shouldn’t be shocked that the team were taking this so well. Behind him, Colin and Richard appeared to be having a great time with “aeroplane arms”. Somebody in the back yelled “ow,” followed by a hasty apology that sounded like Zoreaux.

“ _Support_ your partner in extending the hamstrings, don’t force it!” the instructor said. “And now we’ll move into the plank – no, just the working partner –“

Too late; several thumps and a muffled curse came from the back of the room.

“We can try a double plank later, but it’s advanced,” the instructor said, her sprightly tone returning. “For now let’s just hold it – you can support your partner under the hips or low ribcage, gently . . .”

Ted wasn’t entirely sure what “support” meant in this case, but just squat-kneeling there with his hands wrapped around Rebecca’s abdomen seemed wrong, so he lifted upward a bit to take the pressure off her hands. “Is this –“ he asked.

“Sort of fun, actually,” she said. “Not sure the plank is supposed to be this easy.”

He kind of held on and followed through chaturanga dandasana – a couple of thumps around the room telling him that some of the guys had opted for the “all the way to the belly” version and had a harder landing than expected – then pulled his hands away like she was a hot potato when the instructor came over. “Good,” she said soothingly, putting her hands on Rebecca’s shoulders. “As your partner comes into cobra or upward-facing dog pose, you can encourage the heart to open. Gently.” 

“ _Gently!_ ” Colin yelped from behind them.

“Désolé!”

Ted put his hands where the instructor’s had been as she stepped away. He wasn’t sure about Rebecca’s heart being in her shoulders, but (a) he probably shouldn’t touch wherever it was, and (b) nothing wrong with opening up in general. 

“I’m going to demonstrate as our partner moves into downward dog,” the instructor said, tapping Nate out and coming to stand behind Beard’s feet. “We want to encourage the back to be long while remembering that everyone may not be open in the hamstrings.” She was standing sort of between Beard’s spread feet, smoothing her hands down his back again.

Oh jeez. Okay. At least this way, like the forward fold, you were looking at their back and not their butt. Even if your hips and theirs were definitely in what would be called a “compromising position”.

Huh. Was there a “compromising pose”? Compromisasana?

He wanted to ask again if this was okay, but that might make it awkward. Maybe he’d just take the earlier consent – threat – whatever it was, as a blanket okay until she said otherwise. Maybe.

He leaned forward as he smoothed his hand along her neck to the back of her skull. “Is this –“

“ _Fine!_ ” she hissed.

As they moved on through a warrior series it occurred to him that he should really be paying attention to what Rebecca was doing, in the sense that their positions were presumably going to be reversed soon and he had not spent a lot of his life doing yoga, whereas she obviously had. If he was honest, he had not known a warrior one from a warrior two until she edged him out of the way to transition between them. 

“Excellent work!” the instructor sang. “Listening to your partner!”

Ted slid his hands under Rebecca’s outstretched arms. “I feel like we’re about to break into a dance number,” he said. “Like Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse.” Cyd Charisse was taller than all her partners, too.

This was definitely all weird; very, very weird – they’d hugged, that couple of times, but this was sliding his hands all over various parts of her body that he would not consider it appropriate to touch in the normal course of business. _Was_ there any part of her body that was appropriate to touch in the normal course of business? No. Hashtag Me Too. Well, her hands, he guessed. In the shaking hands context.

Anyway, it was weird. But okay weird. Team-building weird.

How inappropriate could anything be that had Colin behind them yelling, “I’m flying like an eagle”?

(He and Richard both landed on the mat again two seconds later.)

Actually, by the time they were doing supported plank pushups it had kind of stopped feeling weird. Like normal trainer stuff. Hands under Rebecca’s abdomen again, he was trying to help her without helping her, like any coach would understand, and everything was fine until Zoreaux called out, “Hey! Anybody else feeling a little jealous of Coach?”

Rebecca remained steadfastly intent on her plank, but Ted froze, waiting for what seemed like the inevitable HR complaint that was about to arise.

“I mean,” Zoreaux continued, “my partner weighs two stone more than me!”

“I do not,” his partner grunted, mid-pushup.

“The rest of us are working, here!” Zoreaux insisted.

“Well,” Rebecca said, her breath a little short, not lifting her head, “you can laugh at me later then.”

Zoreaux skipped to that part and laughed now, shouting, “Fair play!”

“Hey,” Ted said to Rebecca’s back. “You have nothing but ease ahead of you. I am a feather on the wind.”

“Sure you are.”

Fair play to all the “working partners” really, because it did keep getting harder. Guys were groaning around the room, and not because they were enjoying themselves so much. Rebecca seemed pretty used to yoga and even her legs were shaking by the time they were all holding their umpteenth downward dog, while the instructor gave their partners fun new ideas of how to support them into the pose. Ted was beginning to suspect she’d thrown the couples’ exercises out the window and was now teaching some kind of team yoga acrobatics, trying to come up with ways to challenge a room full of professional athletes. He was currently squatting on his heels with his arms wrapped around Rebecca’s lower legs, trying to look through her feet to her head rather than up at her butt. Strands of her hair were coming loose around her face.

“You got this, boss,” he said softly as her legs continued to tremble from the effort. “You’re a lion. You’re fierce. Take it to the finish line.”

Beside him, Beard let out a strangled sigh that sounded like a dying steer.

Rebecca followed instructions to lower to her elbows, despite the fact that her breath was now coming in audible rushes. Ted really respected the heck out of the way she was pushing through this. Her arms were trembling as she lifted back up onto each hand in turn, but she did it and held it. “There it is, nice work,” he said, and patted her Lycra-clad butt.

Oh shit.

“Oh shit,” he said. “That was completely inappropriate, I’m so sorry. Forgot who you were there for a sec. I am sorry, will not happen again.”

“How flattering,” Rebecca said, her voice strained. With effort, not anger. Seemed like they were okay. Shit.

He had not foreseen that accidentally touching the boss’s butt would be a hazard of team-building.

“Annnnd, you can assist your partner to find child’s pose . . .”

Beard went forehead-first onto the mat.

Exchanging places was – actually really fun. Though he wasn’t looking forward to ten minutes in when he’d be working as hard as Rebecca had been on her turn, and he definitely didn’t think his hamstrings did all that. But she was right about the supported plank. It was like gravity let go of you for a minute.

Rebecca’d managed “peaceful warrior” – “shanti virabhadrasana, ‘shanti’ means ‘peace’!” according to the instructor – pretty much on her own, but that was where the wheels came off the wagon for Ted. He couldn’t _find_ his back thigh, let alone get his hand to it, until Rebecca helped him, and it took her smoothing a hand up his side past his armpit and all along his lifted arm to get any kind of a curve. She was very professional about it, actually. Firm. Confident.

He was not. “I feel neither peace, nor like a warrior,” he mumbled while trying not to fall over.

Rebecca stepped in close so that he was leaning on her body and her hands were holding his arm and shoulder. “I think maybe it means nonaggressive. Nonthreatening.”

“I am definitely that.” He felt like he was on the rack, although maybe kind of in a good way.

His pride got him through the rest of the sequence, even when his legs shook, even when Rebecca, arms wrapped around his shins and eyes wide with sincerity, said, “You can do it. Just imagine you’re a panda.” 

He laughed, but somehow didn’t fall.

Somewhere to his right, Dani said, “I understand! The idea is to break us, so that we will bond together!”

And – yeah. Apparently. That probably wasn’t the approach they took to couples’ yoga?

Ted didn’t break. He almost didn’t make it back up into a downward dog from his elbows, but he didn’t break, and he told himself Rebecca had managed it, and he eked it out.

She did not pat him on the butt.

Then it was time for what the instructor called “fun”, which seemed to mean almost dying while attempting positions worthy of Cirque du Soleil. By silent mutual agreement Ted and Rebecca just sat (collapsed) on his mat for a while, watching their team. Nate was soaring over Beard, who was lying on his back. (“I used to do that with Henry,” Ted said.) Colin had decided to try a handstand with his feet on Richard’s back, which seemed doomed to end in disaster. The instructor was guiding Dani into something called a scorpion while Sam held him up from a downward dog. O’Brien was draped over his partner, whose head Ted couldn’t even see, in some kind of a backbend.

This _was_ neat. Son of a bitch.

“You two!” the instructor chirped, coming over to their corner. “I’d love to get you two into a warrior three!”

“I barely managed one and two,” Ted objected, while the instructor somehow hustled them to their feet.

“No, no, this’ll be great – your support will help each other balance so you can work into the full expression of the pose. Hands on shoulders now – there.”

Ted found himself looking directly into Rebecca’s eyes as they arranged themselves. He smiled and watched her mouth twitch at one corner.

“And now,” the instructor said, once they had backed up so that both of them were looking at the floor, backs flat, “we’re going to lift our right leg out behind – oops!”

Ted had kicked Nate a little.

“Sorry, buddy!” he called, still staring at the floor. He was pretty sure he’d gotten him in the balls. 

“All good!” Nate sort of squeaked.

“Being careful of our environment, we’re going to lift our right leg . . .”

Yeah, this was actually kind of fun too. Hurt his hamstring like heck – both of them, actually – and he was pretty sure Rebecca was doing the lion’s share of the work of holding them up while he wobbled –

Lion’s share. Heh. Of course.

But this was fun.

“I need to go back to yoga,” Rebecca said as they hovered.

“You left?”

The instructor touched his back. “And, slowly lower that leg and switch.”

“I went to this studio in my street,” Rebecca said as they lifted their left legs. “These women . . . anyway. Once Rupert – once I became a subject of gossip, it was intolerable.”

“I’m sorry.” He twitched a hand on her shoulder, more or less on purpose. “Yoga doesn’t seem like it’s supposed to be like that.”

“No.”

By the time they were stretching, Ted felt like a very peaceful, contented limp noodle. If you didn’t count the pain. He’d forgotten how good physical exhaustion could be. He was supposed to be encouraging Rebecca into a cobbler’s pose now, but she sort of slid right into it on her own so he just collapsed against her back. “Am I killing you?” he asked, knowing that he probably didn’t have the strength to move if she said yes.

“No, this is great actually.” She shifted a bit underneath him. 

“You got something going on behind that knee?” he asked. He’d heard a tiny noise in the back of her throat every time she straightened her left leg.

“A bit. Aside from trying to pretend I don’t have sciatica.”

In coach mode, he shifted around and worked his fingers under her thigh. “There?” he asked, digging in for a gentle massage.

“Yes – ah!”

“Sorry.” He’d made the massage a bit less gentle.

“No, it’s all right.”

“You should have the physio look at it,” he said as she straightened up so they could trade places.

“The physio takes care of the players.”

“The physio takes care of the _team_.” The physio was going to be taking care of the coach, at this rate. Cobbler’s pose was _terrible_. How did her body do that so easily? He cast his eyes around the room for evidence that the other guys were finding it just as hard. Most of them were.

(“Oi – encourage me, not shove me!”

“That is encouragement!”

“No, it fucking is not!”)

Then Rebecca was “encouraging” him deeper into the pose and he’d had no idea – no idea –

He just didn’t know it was going to hit him this way.

Her hands walked up his back, thumbs massaging into the muscles on either side of his spine as the instructor directed, fingers finding the space under his shoulder blades, palms spreading over his shoulders. One hand rested on the back of his neck and despite what she was doing to his groin –

The pain in his groin. Not that he could swear this had always been the case, but this time, he meant the pain –

He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt this good. His eyes welled up. Oh shit. 

It was just –

He did this kind of thing for his players. No one did this kind of thing for him. And on top of – something about her closeness, the vulnerability of her strong bare shoulders (now that was ironic), the way he could still feel the contours of her under his hands, and now, this caring touch –

Oh shit.

“Ted?”

Oh shit.

She could tell something was up. She bent closer. “Not pushing too much?”

“No,” he managed to say after swallowing. “No, it’s – well it hurts like hell, but it’s okay.”

“Listen to your body,” the instructor cooed, and yeah. Yeah. He was doing that. Maybe a little too much.

Or maybe he just hadn’t done it enough, before.

* * * * * 

After, everyone milled around laughing, joking, stretching. Rebecca had thought this was a mad idea, but it actually seemed to have been brilliant. There was a new feeling in the training room, a feeling of contentment. She even felt it herself, almost.

She’d worried that she’d feel strange, conspicuous, the only woman (other than the instructor) in yoga pants, working out with this roomful of (mostly) rowdy young men. But Ted had her back. She should have known. Ted was . . . 

Limping. Ted was limping.

“Sure you’re all right?” she asked as she pulled her jacket on.

“Oh, yeah.” He waved a hand. “ _I_ am headed home to make beignets. New Orleans doughnuts? Best thing in the world, I swear. Make ‘em every year. It is Mardi Gras, after all.”

Good Lord, was it? She took stock. “It’s Sunday.”

“Carnival, then.” He hesitated. “You could – I mean. If you want. Want to come?” When she breathed in instead of answering right away he added, “Best doughnuts you’ve ever tasted, seriously.”

From anyone else she would have assumed that was a line. From Ted Lasso, baker of the best biscuits she’d ever tasted – it could still be a line, but she also believed him.

“Well,” she said; and he grinned, something a little tremulous about it.

“Come on,” he said.


	2. Chapter 2

Rebecca had never really doubted whether “making beignets” meant anything other than “making beignets,” but in case she had, there were already flour and a rolling pin laid out in Ted’s kitchen when they entered.

Had he planned, when he left the flat this morning, to invite her back? The place was spotless.

Shit, it was probably like this all the time. The flat of a bachelor in his forties with no spare time and no cleaning service, if that bachelor was Ted Lasso.

He’d offered the use of his shower so she didn’t have to go all the way home or spend the afternoon in her sweaty yoga clothes. The club was of course full of showers but . . . all of those showers were in the same room and full of naked men.

Somehow using Ted’s shower felt almost as risqué as walking into the locker room, though. Using a man’s shower. When was the last time? Wrapped in a clean towel he’d taken from the cupboard to offer her, she sniffed his woodsy-smelling lotion, hesitated, then borrowed it anyway. Smelling like a man’s – well actually, she couldn’t recall ever smelling like a man’s _body lotion_ , but only because she didn’t think she’d ever slept with one who used it. But even smelling like a man’s soap – it had to have been fifteen years or more. God, maybe not since her twenties.

On her return to the kitchen in jeans and a buttoned shirt, Ted greeted her – ignoring the fact that she was probably blushing as she came close enough for him to catch his scent on her – by cheerfully throwing a long strand of purple beads over her head and saying, in maybe the worst French accent she’d ever heard, “Laissez les bons temps rouler! Feel free to make yourself a cup of tea while I get cleaned up.”

Rebecca looked down at the beads, summoning up the very little she knew about American Mardi Gras. “I didn’t flash you during yoga and not notice, did I?”

He laughed, but she thought she saw a bit of pink in his cheeks as well, as he hustled off to the shower. “Nope, no quid pro quo here.”

She was pouring boiling water over a bag of PG tips before she remembered that Ted hated tea. The electric kettle would have come with the flat, but she’d pulled the tea from a new box. 

_Had_ he planned . . . ?

She busied herself, trying to contain her blushes, by perusing the collection of books on his shelf. They were exactly as eclectic, and as devoid of tomes on the right kind of football, as she expected. And as disorganized. Her fingers itched until she finished her tea and gave in. When Ted returned from the shower – bedecked in a strand of green beads – he found her putting the Narnia books in proper publication order.

“I bet you alphabetize your shelves,” he said.

“Of course I do, I’m not a savage.” She picked up her empty tea mug to bring it to the kitchen. “You know you have four copies of Ulysses?”

He shrugged. “Never know when you’re gonna need one. Beignet time?”

“Right,” she said. “Wouldn’t want to be caught without a confusing Irish novel on hand.”

Ted threw a finger-point in her direction that was probably intended to mean – something. “Okay. Want to be in charge of boiling oil?”

“That does sound within my skillset.” More than baking, anyway. 

He handed her a bottle of vegetable oil and gestured toward the pot on the stove. “Great. Just let me know when you’re ready. Or if any Saxons start laying siege outside the walls.” He paused. “Are we the Saxons?”

“Do you want the real answer, because it’s the length of an encyclopedia entry.”

He gave a quick nod as he sprinkled flour on the counter. “Sounds like fun, but maybe later.”

“This was good, today.” When he looked up in surprise, his expression was so open that she had to look away again and stare into the pot of oil she’d just poured out. “The yoga, was a good idea. I’m glad you asked me.”

Ted cleared his throat a little before he answered. “Yeah now, you know the boys like to see you around.”

“Probably the first couples yoga any of them have ever attended,” she added slyly.

“You caught that, huh?”

“I was stood next to you, Ted. How do I know when I’m ready?”

“What?”

He sounded so confused-startled that she turned and met his eye again. “The oil. How –“

“Oh!” With a little shake of his head, he handed her a wooden spoon. “Stick the handle in. When little bubbles start showing up around it, it’s ready.”

“I can handle that.”

“Hey.” He pointed at her, grinning, and it took her a moment as always to spot the unintentional pun.

“Christ,” she said, allowing a smile.

“Just, you know, keep an eye on it,” he said as he went back to mixing batter. “ _Donut_ let it get too hot.”

“I refuse to laugh.”

“That’s all right, you’re laughing on the inside. I know.” 

They were smiling, but the quiet that fell between them then felt . . . heavy. There was something – Ted, Ted of all people, was sitting on something he wasn’t saying. She could feel it solidly in the room with them.

“You know,” she said, to break the strange tension. “It’s Pancake Day here. Or, well, Tuesday is.”

“Yeah, some parts of the U.S. too,” he replied. “Some places it’s _Fastnacht_.” He couldn’t have said that with more relish. “Probably because folks are from all over. Though I guess they are here, too. Oh, heck –“

Was he finally going to spit it out? “What?”

“Forgot to put the coffee on.”

Well, that probably wasn’t it.

He proudly displayed an orange tin and began scooping grounds into the coffee maker. “Got to have your café au lait. Part of the deal.”

Ugh. “I don’t suppose it’s –“

“Not optional, nope. When in Rome – and you’re in New Orleans now. Had it sent over.”

It took her a moment to realize he meant the tin of coffee, not all of New Orleans.

“Do you do this every year?” she asked.

“Yep.” Coffee started, he went back to rolling dough into a sheet on the floured counter. “Every Mardi Gras, me and Henry . . .”

Well, shit. She’d found the sore spot and given it a good kick.

“Sounds nice,” she said vaguely, staring back into the oil and praying for bubbles to appear. It was taking an inordinately long time.

Shit. Wait.

“Fuck it,” she said out loud.

“Everything okay?”

“Fine, it’s just that oil heats faster if you turn the hob on.” 

“That it does. No rush on my end.”

For a moment there was silence again, other than the clicking of the gas as it fired up. Then –

“Had kind of a funny conversation the other day,” Ted said.

“Oh?” Heat was making the oil swirl in the blasted pot now. She was an idiot.

“Yeah, I was talking to Michelle – we were catching up about Henry, you know, when he can come over here on his school holidays.”

“Spoken like an Englishman,” Rebecca said softly.

“Yeah.” His smile was brief. “Anyhow we were talking about – nothing really, and she said . . .” He paused and sighed a little. “She said, ‘I’m glad you’ve found someone.’”

Something simultaneously heavy and empty thudded into Rebecca’s stomach. She swallowed. “I didn’t know you were seeing –“

“I’m not.” 

She looked over, their eyes met, and she allowed her confusion to show on her face. “Okay?”

“So I asked her what she meant, and she said she’d seen some photos –“

Now the color drained from Rebecca’s face; she could feel it go. “Shit,” she said. “No, no one had those. I swear, I didn’t – I’d have deleted the only copies, only Keeley liked how she looked in them –“

Ted held up a hand. He didn’t look angry, either, just . . . strange. “I said, if it’s me and a young lady who looks like one of the Spice Girls eating hamburgers, you’ve got the wrong end of the stick, but she said no.”

Frowning even deeper, Rebecca looked into the pot and saw tiny bubbles on the wooden handle of the spoon. “Oil’s ready,” she said, despite really really wanting to hear the rest of the story. Or maybe she didn’t. Hard to say.

“Why don’t you step over there?” Ted gestured to a spot at the end of the counter as he approached the stove with a cutting board full of little pastry squares. “Out of splatter range. All right, going in.”

Rebecca leaned over curiously to watch the little squares bob to the surface and puff up as they browned.

“Anyway,” Ted said after an eternity, while he scooped beignets from the oil and set them to drain. “She said ‘no – I mean you and Rebecca.’”

Her stomach could not take all this. Especially not with all the blood rushing down, then up, then down again. “What?” For a bit of air she moved further from the stove. “Wait – I keep – I’m feeling guilty or something about someone having compromising photos of us, but they can’t possibly because we’ve never done anything compromising.” Not until this morning, anyway.

He cleared his throat and dropped another batch of little squares into the oil. “Right. That’s what I – anyway, apparently Sports Illustrated did an article on American soccer players who play for European teams – or maybe it was European players on American teams – and they used some pictures from that event we did with the national team.” He shook his head. “Said ‘team’ too many times.”

“I remember that event. I wasn’t drunk or anything. I think I’d remember us running off to . . .” oh God Rebecca stop talking.

“Pretty sure I would, too.” Another batch of little puffs came out of the oil. “It’s not – they’re not – there’s nothing wrong with any of them. The pictures. They’re from when we were all posing for the press. Hell, it was probably Keeley who gave ‘em to the magazine in the first place.”

Okay, so they also weren’t up-skirt shots of her getting out of the car or anything. Not that Sports Illustrated was Page Six.

Ted was arranging beignets on a platter now, so apparently she was going to have to –

“Could I see them?” she asked.

“Oh.” He paused, wiped his hands on a damp dish towel, then reached for his phone and swiped a bit. “Here.”

As she enlarged the first photo, she noticed that she wasn’t looking at it on a browser. He’d saved the photo to his phone.

And –

“Oh,” she said.

He was right, of course – there wasn’t anything _wrong_ with the photo. Or the next one. They were standing at one side of the front row of a group of club owners and managers who were in the process of assembling for a posed shot – the candid before the formal photos. They were absolutely in public and behaving appropriately. Her breasts weren’t gaping out of her dress. Page Six wouldn’t have the slightest interest.

But – 

Her face was turned toward him, despite the fact that her body was mostly turned away. She was smiling a real smile, not a photo op one. And his hand was on her hip. Solidly, thoroughly, on her hip, his fingers stretching toward her stomach, thumb on her side. It looked so purposeful a gesture, his big, expressive hand sitting there, that she felt the phantom weight on her hip in the real world. It should have looked possessive, and with another man ( _Rupert_ ) it might have, but Ted just made it seem fond.

Did she remember that moment? No, she couldn’t at any rate remember noticing that he was touching her. She was sorry not to.

“Oh,” she said again.

“Yeah.” He took his phone back and tossed it onto the counter. While she hadn’t been watching, the beignets had acquired a truly astounding amount of powdered sugar. Ted motioned to them with a half-smile. “Don’t count unless your lap ends up covered in sugar while you eat.”

“What’s the rate of diabetes in Louisiana?” she murmured.

“Oh, it’s quite high. Pass me those clean mugs?”

She did, and he poured from the coffeepot something that looked like the pitch after a rain game.

“No wonder you people can’t appreciate decent tea,” she said, giving it a hesitant sniff. “That is mud, Ted.”

“You’re not gonna drink it like that, hold on.” He added milk until the coffee looked – even more like mud. “Here, do your own sugar.”

“ _More_ sugar?”

“Trust me?”

“Biscuits . . . tea.” She held up her hands in scales to indicate that his taste in each weighed differently.

“Go on.”

She stirred a minute amount of sugar into her cup and took a very tentative sip.

“And?”

She looked up into his expectant face. “Honestly, that is . . . not terrible.”

“It’s no ‘fuck me,’ but I’ll take it.”

He swore so infrequently that she almost spit out her next sip of coffee. Which honestly he probably deserved, but she managed to swallow anyway.

“Okay, now try it with a beignet.”

She accepted the plate he handed her with powdered-sugar-white fingers, but just set it down on the counter and looked at it. “Ted.”

He exhaled and leaned against the counter. “Know what else she said?”

Yeah, they definitely weren’t finished.

“What?” Rebecca asked, dreading the answer.

“She said – just by the way, you know – she said ‘I don’t need to know when it started.’”

It took her a moment to catch up. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“She – so she thinks not only that you and I are involved, but that we became involved while you were still married?”

“Seems that way.”

“Shit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing to me for, it’s your marriage.” Absently she picked up the beignet and took a bite. “Oh my _God_.”

Ted’s face brightened. “Now try the coffee again.”

She did, and the flavors blended in a way that made her want to – toss beads off a balcony, or whatever they did. “Oh my God. _Fine_. You win.”

“Told you.”

She dusted her fingertips together and watched him sip from his own mug for a moment. “I am sorry, Ted,” she said finally. “If – if that had anything to do with her ending things, if she thought when she came over here that –“

He shook his head. “She didn’t. I don’t think she thought that then. Anyway, she . . .” He licked his lips and set the mug down. “She said – when they were here, when we talked, she said she was – working, to try to feel about me . . .”

God. “That – is rubbish, I’m so sorry.” She swallowed. “You deserve – someone who – for it not to be _work_ to . . .”

Ted smiled. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “Back at you.”

She laughed humorlessly. “Not quite the same in my case. Don’t think there was any work involved anyway, just a giant prick who thought he could keep the wife who did all the work and still sample the buffet of twenty-five-year-olds with perfect bodies.” She reconsidered. “Or actually. _Not_ a giant prick.”

That nearly made Ted choke on his coffee, and she was bizarrely proud.

“A body that belongs to somebody you love is a perfect body,” he said while wiping a bit of coffee from his mouth, and it was sing-song as if he’d said it often, but - _fuck_ , that was a good line.

To dispel the slight awkwardness, she told him so.

He shrugged. “S’true.” Then he coughed a little and added, “Just so’s you know. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

Given he’d spent the morning with his face practically shoved into every corner of her body, she decided to almost believe him. To stop herself from saying anything awkward about it, she shoved a beignet in her mouth.

They were really, really good.

God, Ted. While she tried to make sure her face wasn’t entirely coated in powdered sugar, she just watched him tidy up his floury kitchen. Those hands she’d somehow not noticed even when they were on her body – though she’d noticed this morning, during the couples yoga that wasn’t. Those long legs. The way he stood like he was always at home.

He just exuded this - _love_ , all the time, in everything he did, and she was so in danger of forgetting that it didn’t mean he would choose her to love in particular. That it didn’t mean any of it was meant just for her, when it so often felt that it was, that it had to be. That smile. The damned biscuits.

When did she start wanting it to be for her?

He was next to her again, leaning against the counter and fiddling with the plate of beignets. They’d been quiet for too long, she realized. Now it was awkward again. She didn’t know what to say, she just wanted – needed –

She leaned over and kissed him. On the mouth. It was a primary-school kiss, mouths closed, a lingering peck, but when she pulled away she’d still caught his taste along with the coffee and sugar. His eyes were closed and his hands held up, carefully not touching her.

Oh shit.

“Oh God,” she said, and his eyes opened. “Oh – that wasn’t – I’m so sorry, Ted, I’m – you’re my _employee_ for fuck’s sake, what was I –“

He shook his head. “Okay, sounds like there’s a lot going on here, and I’m going to just – wash the flour off my hands.” He was – was he trembling? He went to the sink, and maybe that was why he hadn’t been touching her, but –

“I’m so sorry.”

“You can stop saying that.” He turned to face her, wiping his hands on the towel. “Look. You gonna fire me if we don’t . . .” He gestured in the space between them.

“ _No_. God, do I look like Rupert?”

“Okay.” He leaned back against the sink and gave her a measured look, his eyes a little lowered. “You gonna fire me if we do?”

“No. M-maybe. I mean, no, not unless you –“

Ted held up his hands. “Yeah. Yeah. Let’s assume I don’t pull a Rupert. Or do anything else you can’t forgive. If I do anything like _that_ , feel free to fire me. Or if we don’t get promoted. Or any other, you know, normal reason. But –“

“Then no. Certainly – no.” Were they – this was insane. Were they actually talking about this?

“Okay then.”

“Um.” She blinked rapidly, looking for clarity. “Do you feel, at all – pressured?”

His eyes lifted to hers. “No.”

“All right.”

“I mean – no, boss.” He was grinning now.

“Shut up. No. Definitely not.”

“You sure?”

She wrinkled her nose, trying it out in her head. “Yes. Definite veto.”

“Okay.” He sidled a little closer. “Do you mind if I . . .”

God, _did_ she? She held one hand in front of her chest. “Did – did this all go from hypothetical to real rather quickly?” Just – did they, did she, really want to risk what they had? The friendly respect, the partnership, the warmth that had grown between them . . . okay, shit, she might be in love with him. A little. Shit.

“You kissed me,” he said, but he took a step back anyway. “I was there.”

He was teasing, but he was also, _Christ_ , such a good man.

“I know, I remember,” she said. “I didn’t entirely – plan that out.”

Now he was definitely further away. “Hey, I didn’t mean to assume – if you don’t want, or if you didn’t mean . . .”

“No, I – I do. I think.” He was starting to look a little bit hurt, although she was sure he didn’t mean to manipulate her at all. Just, that face. “Sorry, I’m just really bad at this.”

“Both just a little out of practice.” Ted came closer again, slowly, and slowly put his arms loosely around her waist. “Or – training. No, that sounds weird. This okay?”

“As long as you don’t make me do another bloody vinyasa.” She leaned against the counter and closed her eyes for a moment, tipping her head back. They were going to do this, weren’t they? “Fuck. Rupert is going to say something vile when this gets out.”

Ted’s hands were moving lightly on her back, which she liked. “I like that you said ‘when’ and not ‘if,’” he said.

“I did, didn’t I.” When she opened her eyes again he was there, closer, the front of his thighs brushing hers. She almost couldn’t breathe, but she lifted a hand to his cheek. “Ted.”

“Boss.”

“ _Ted_.”

“Just kidding. Rebecca.”

His grin was ridiculous, so she kissed him. Her fingers rubbed through the hair at the nape of his neck; his mouth opened to her; the last bit of breath left her body; and she pulled away, inhaled deeply of the smell of coffee and pastry and woodsy body lotion and said, “Christ, I can’t believe it’s Valentine’s Day, what a heap of fucking ridiculous cliché. I blame you entirely.”

He collapsed laughing, his face in her neck, and said, “Blame Roy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic, as the show is apparently going to, ignores the COVID. So this is set February 2021, when Valentine's Day is on a Sunday and Shrove Tuesday/Pancake Day/whatever is two days later, on the day this chapter is being posted; but in a world with no lockdowns and no masks.
> 
> PS anyone who’s seeing this, I’d love to get back into the writing swing so do leave me Ted/Rebecca prompts if you want!


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